Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Outside

It's rejection. That's what this feeling is. It doesn't seem like it, and it logically shouldn't be, but that's all it is. It's infuriating, really. I have no reason to feel this. Especially not all day without end. But here we are and here I am. I spend so much of my time trying to get rid of this ridiculous feeling, doing whatever I can to hammer in the unreality of it. I take exorbitant risks, hoping to shock myself out of the fear, I trust fully and completely with only the slightest provocation in hopes that I will learn that I can do that and that my emotion is groundless. I adopt a veneer of iron-clad confidence, in hopes that this somehow sinks into myself and teaches me how to be confident. I thoroughly justify everything I say and do and think just in case it ever comes to question, so that perhaps if I am rejected, even that won't be so bad, for my actions were rational and had some grounding and it is in fact the other party's fault. Blame the other party instead of wallowing in the emotions.

It's never worked, and possibly it never will. My only other option is to just suffer with it and rationalize and detach and find myself away from myself and away from the emotions that comprise me. I'm not crazy, not really, I just have a complex. And the thing is, it's not futile, it doesn't disrupt every personal relationship I have, but at some point it probably came into play. There's almost always some point in time which I was thoroughly convinced that a person whose respect and admiration or even just acquaintance has been entirely out of my grasp. I've taken small words and brief glances and even simple discourtesies to their illogical extremes, because here in my world I cannot comprehend that perhaps no offense was meant or even conveyed, because I am somewhere in my head constantly looking for reasons to justify my own fears and tell myself "see, I was right, they never really liked you all along because you are awful" because that is the only answer I want to hear sometimes, rather than "no, Jake, you just crazy sensitive. You need to get over stuff. This shit is all in your head" and sometimes I do believe it's all in my head and I understand that and it gives me strength.

Sometimes I even forget about all that and don't realize until later that I should probably be looking at life through my anxieties. Those times are pretty neat, but I forget what they're like once they're over, though. I do loathe myself. I loathe the things I write, I loathe the things I say. I am a loathe of bread. Or something. I don't know. Does anyone ever take me seriously? Sometimes I'm not serious, but that's a lot easier than being serious. I don't want to brook with my real opinion. I will not barter in it lightly. What if my real opinion loses me opportunity? What if it becomes a catalyst for the rejection I fear so much? It's safer to stand on the edges, on the outside.

I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be okay again and I'll probably forget why I ever felt this way.